Wedding Stories
by Professor Maka
Summary: A series of drabbles surrounding a SoMA wedding. In this newest short, Soul and Maka are off to choose a wedding cake, but when they can't agree, hilarity ensues. Complete Fluff Eater.
1. The Wedding Show

The Death City Health, Beauty, and Wedding Show was just the sort of event that Soul generally and studiously avoided. Held at the convention center at the center of town, it was packed with people, largely women and the occasional poor sap of a fiancé dragged by his bride to be. He was, it turned out, one such poor sap. The worst part was, he had no one to blame but himself.

When he had proposed to Maka last month, sitting on the wall overlooking the city, he had been a nervous, sweaty mess. Sure, he knew his meister loved him, but she had some (understandable) wariness about marriage, and he wasn't sure how she would react. Much to his complete and total elation, she had donned the widest, most beautiful smile at his less than smooth proposal and flung her arms around him. Apparently, as with so many things, her reservations were squashed when it came to him, and he couldn't help but feel a little (even a lot) proud of that, to have been the one to heal her, to make her willing to take that chance, and with him, of all people, who would never quite deserve her, but would always be willing to try.

Yes, the proposal had gone well. And the next day, when they had casually discussed getting married, she had insisted something small, something perhaps even private, just the two of them, was best. Their marriage was about them, not the rest of the damned world, she had suggested. But no, he was the one who protested, he was the one who insisted this was something they should celebrate with their friends and family or they would regret it, he was the one who had told her that they should have a real wedding, and he had convinced her that he was right. What the hell was he thinking again? He hated big, fancy parties, didn't much care for most people in his own family, so why in the hell would he think a big event that encompassed both evils was a good idea? Oh yeah, her. He wanted to make sure she would be happy. Because he'd had this sneaking suspicion that the idea of a private ceremony was for him. Maka liked parties, she liked being around friends, she liked dancing and dressing up for the right occasion. If they didn't do this, he was afraid she would eventually regret it. And besides, he wanted everyone to see and to know, he wanted to shout their love from the rooftops because holy shit, Maka Albarn, Maka Fucking Albarn, his meister, his best friend, bookworm, genius, grigori, complete badass, had agreed to spend the rest of her life with him. With _him_ of all people. That deserved some sort of pomp, didn't it? If only he wasn't required to be at the center of said pomp. Or of this stupid, stupid mass of bridezillas and beleaguered lovers and eager peddlers of conventional crappola.

For her part, Maka didn't seem to mind the press of people and sheer noise of it all. She pulled him through the crowd like an old pro, tugging him along with a firm clasp of his hand in hers from one vendor to another, sampling chocolate covered strawberries and cake in every flavor and hue, filet minion and chicken cacciatore, not to mention listening to various string quartets and trios of middling ability playing clichéd wedding mixes of overdone classical music, the various DJs with their terrible pop playlists, the cover bands that made him cringe with their pop overstylings, and the yards and yards of wedding dresses and bouquets and favors and minute crappola he could not fathom why anyone actually cared about. But Maka? For all her lip service about a private wedding, Maka seemed to _care, _taking notes and remarking on the advantages of this vendor over that, the flavor of this cake over the one before_._

As they sampled what had to be their dozenth sliver of wedding cake, Maka telling him to open wide and he, for his part, reluctantly complying because, crowd and noise aside, there was something damned sexy about being fed wedding cake by his bride to be, he, upon chewing and swallowing, finally remarked.

"I thought you wanted a private wedding? You are awfully into," he waved a hand, "all of this totally uncool crap." She raised her eyebrows in warning and surprise.

"Don't sulk. You're the one who thought we should do the whole traditional thing. I figure if we're going to do it, we should do it right."

"That's what she said," he smirked. Maka smacked him playfully on the arm, shaking her head, but then offered.

"Maybe later. If you stop sulking. If you're good."

"I can be very, very good." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Prove it." She tilted her head with a seductive smile, but when she backed out of his reach when he thought to do just that, she shook her head and her smile became even more sultry.

"I meaaaan that enthusiasm for our upcoming wedding here will gain you enthusiasm for—other things—later."

He let out a breath and, pulled in by that smile, smirked back at her.

"Yeah, I can do that," he closed the short distance between them, pulled her into a quick kiss full of promise, and then took her firmly by the hand, taking the lead to drag her alone. "Let's plan this bastard."

And for that day, at least, Soul became an enthusiastic participant in their wedding plans, navigating vendors and cake and music and other bullshit like he'd been doing it all his life (in some sense he had, he was an Evans after all.)

For her part, Maka kept her promise, and her enthusiasm that night proved well worth his continued effort.


	2. Cake

**A/N: This one was for a follower, Railgun-unbound. She wanted wedding fluff, so a new wedding drabble was born.**

* * *

The first problem had been deciding on a baker. Fortunately, that one had been solved rather quickly; it turned out that Blair had a friend who had a friend who had heard that there was a baker dying to make a cake for "The Last Death Scythe" and his meister, and who would gladly do it for free if they would allow him to tell people he was the one who had made their cake.

Well, why not? Neither of them was about to pass up free cake. Especially not from a trained pastry chef currently employed by a well known Italian bakery they were already considering (or rather, Maka was considering — Soul didn't care who made it so long as it tasted good.)

Baker decided, Maka had made an appointment for them to come in and had bribed her fiance with promises of free samples and being _very grateful_ later if he was good, and now here they were, sitting and eyeballing 19 varieties of spongy, fluffy sweetness and facing their second problem: just what the hell type of cake did they actually want, anyway?

Turned out, this was a subject upon which they didn't exactly agree. As they'd entered the large italian bakery in the heart of Death City and were greeted by a tall, thin young man with a mop of searingly rainbow hair and a bright white chef's uniform, things had seemed hopeful enough. The man had approached them enthusiastically, taking up the surprised couple in a bone crushing hug and gushing over how thrilled he was to be able to do this for them, what an honor it was that _the _last death scythe and his meister, heroes, vanquishers of Asura, had chosen his lowly self to bake their cake, before ushering them into a small meeting room in the back where cake samples were already laid out on a table in a confusing array. After being seated, they had quickly hashed out the color scheme and Maka had explained her wish to have their cake done in a pattern much like her partner's original scythe blade (a fact which had surprised the already somewhat shell shocked weapon since, while he was aware of their black and red color scheme, she had never mentioned this little detail, which the baker had instantly gushed over,) before quickly getting down to the tasting.

Maka had immediately gone for the red velvet. It was sweet, it was tasty, it matched their colors, it was a favorite of hers. While, for the most part, Soul was willing to go along with whatever the heck his meister wanted for this entire circus, as he sampled cake after cake, he found himself having a decided preference, and as she had been insisting he should be putting more input into the whole affair, he asserted his opinion now, adamant that the dark chocolate cake with fresh strawberries and ganache was ridiculously superior to red velvet, and an even better match for their colors, if that was actually a thing (because admittedly, he found the whole cake interior matching the colors bit sort of silly and a whole lot too reminiscent of his upbringing for comfort).

Now at a clear impasse, Maka suggested that as they had only sampled six cakes, they should probably sample them all before coming to a conclusion since it might be there would be a different cake that would wow them both and solve their dilemma. Thirteen samples later, however, they were both still decided on their original choices.

"So…?" the enthusiastic baker looked between them after introducing them to the final option, a lemon cake Spirit would have loved, but that they both thought was disgustingly over-sweet. The baker's blue eyes sparkled as he smiled at the two. They looked at each other, each one's jaw set in stubborn determination. The battle was on.

Suddenly, Soul grabbed his fork and loaded a bite with his cake choice, holding it between himself and his meister. "Try it again," he said with a half-smirk. "Maybe you just didn't get the right bite last time."

Maka had no clue why he was being so stubborn about _cake_ of all things, but figured there was no harm in playing along, so she closed her eyes and opened her mouth, and let him feed her the bite. The baker clapped at the action.

"Oh my, you two are just too cute, aren't you? Sooo…?"

She had to admit, it _was_ pretty good, but she still thought red velvet was the better choice.

"I like it, but I think more people will enjoy the red velvet."

Soul raised an eyebrow. "Since when do we care what more people will enjoy?"

"Since we were planning a wedding and want our guests to have a good time?"

The weapon made a choked sort of scoffing noise, then laughed.

"What?" her eyes were narrowed at him now.

"You know what," he said slowly as he finally swallowed down his final chuckle. "Red Velvet _is_ the perfect choice," she started to smile at his ready agreement, "_if_ we're trying to bore our guests to death."

She choked and sputtered and looked like she might be reaching for a book. For his part, the baker seemed caught between confusion, amusement, and mild offense, looking between them without comment. While Soul braced for what seemed immanent impact, Maka's face relaxed, and suddenly, she smiled. _That_ being far more frightening than her obvious ire, the weapon had to fight the entirely uncool impulse to cower.

"Hmmmm…you could be right," she said finally.

"I—wha?"

"Well," she tilted her head thoughtfully. "Maybe my choice really is boring. I think I should try it again, you know, for comparison." She punctuated the idea by taking her fork and spearing a bite of the red velvet cake, then bringing it to her mouth. She opened up and left the fork in her mouth for a moment, closing her eyes and savoring the bite with a loud, almost indecent moan. Sucking on the fork to get every last morsel, and then, pulling it out languidly, she opened her eyes and offered her weapon a sultry smile. He wanted to play? Well then, she was going to _play._

"Ommmfff… this is soooo good, Soul," she said huskily. "Maybe _you," _she moved the fork over to get another bite and hover it between them, "should try another bite before you decide, hmmmmm?"

The weapon gave a hard swallow and a nod as he opened his mouth. He mimicked her actions, closing his eyes and offering a low "mmmmm" as he sucked the cake off the fork.

"Sooooo…?" She ignored the intense look of anticipation the baker was throwing between them, her smoldering gaze focused entirely on her fiance.

"It's good, you're right," he smiled at her, that same slight smirk from earlier, "but I still prefer the chocolate."

Her face fell, her mouth becoming a flat line of annoyance that her little move hadn't worked.

"Maybe," she offered, sultriness replaced by the low tones of mild anger as she grabbed a handful of the red velvet. "You just haven't had enough yet. HERE!" She mushed the handful against his mouth forcefully, causing him to choke and sputter and the baker to gasp. Soul wiped the cake off with one hand and, standing to get closer to her, took his other hand and grabbed a huge wad of the chocolate cake.

First wiping the leftover red velvet _on her head _to her utter shock, he intoned "It's _you_ who clearly needs more," and shoved that cake in her face in retaliation.

The baker backed away slowly in an almost instinctual show of self preservation as weapon and meister lost every ounce of cool, their little show degenerating into an all out cake war as they smeared each other with every last bit of sample on the table, eventually ending up rolling around on the floor as they each tried to cram cake on every available surface of their opponent's body.

After several moments, the wrestling shifted into an tickle battle, and a few minutes later, they were both shedding tears of laughter, Maka straddling her weapon and insisting he say uncle or she would use her superior position to attack his ridiculously sensitive sides and tickle him into a blubbering heap. A few swipes of her fingers yielded the requisite uncle, and she collapsed onto him, laughing in triumph before leaning up to kiss and then outright _lick_ his cake covered nose.

"Oh, so that's how we're playing now, is it?" the raising of his eyebrow, smeared with strawberry frosting, was comical, and Maka giggled. Soul took her moment of distraction to flip their positions, straddling his meister before licking up the entire left side of her face.

"Well, two can play at that," he grinned down at her surprised face before pressing his lips to hers. Their kiss soon became heated, the baker pressed into the corner of the room long since forgotten. The poor, beleaguered man cleared his throat timidly before things could progress further, and the cake strewn pair on the floor shot up and apart, both red where their skin was visible beneath the cake.

"So, you…" he looked around the small room, where there were now bits and flecks of cake everywhere, then back to them. "…have made a choice?"

"Um…" Soul looked to his meister, who looked to him. After fidgeting for a moment, Maka smiled, turned to the baker, and nodded.

"Yep!" If the weapon was confused, he said nothing, and Maka continued. "We'll take both! Two tiers red velvet, two dark chocolate strawberry! You can cover the whole thing in the black and red pattern we discussed, yes?"

"Um… uh…" the baker stammered for a second, surprised at getting a real response, but quickly recovered. "Of course, of course! So glad we could settle that so—um—amicably!" He looked decidedly uncomfortable, but stepped cautiously closer. Remarkably, the baker, with his outrageous rainbow colored hair and spotless white chef's outfit, had managed not to get a speck of cake on him.

At Maka's side, Soul was grinning like a fool. Trust his meister to come up with a cool compromise. He actually felt more than a bit silly for not figuring it out himself, and his grin only widened as she looked to him and smiled back sheepishly. She quickly turned her attention back to the baker, walking up.

"Thank you so much, again! We'll, um, clean up he mess here, and we really, really appreciate you doing this for us. All of the samples were so delicious that it was a tough choice, and I just _know_ the guests will love the cake!"

The baker looked like he wanted to back further into the corner at her approach, but admirably stayed his ground, nodding slowly instead.

"Thank you, Miss Albarn. I am only pleased to be able to serve such a beloved and—um—clearly enthusiastic couple. I hope my offering will be up to your expectations."

"Please, call me Maka! And I'm positive it will! Thank you so much again!" And Maka swept the man into an impromptu hug, smearing cake all over him. She then stepped back to thank him again when she noticed his look of shock and dismay, then noticed what her action had done.

"Oh—OH! I am _so_ sorry, Mr. Smothers. Please let me…" she looked around and, seeing nothing handy, tried to use her bare hand to get cake off, only smearing it further and causing him to back away. As her weapon snickered behind them, Maka tossed him a glare before returning her gaze to the baker apologetically.

"It is quite alright, quite alright. Thank you both for coming, again. I assure you, all will be ready for the big day!"

"Um, we can at least, uh…" Maka looked around at the mess, then back at the baker while Soul continued to chuckle quietly. "..clean up our, um, mess, uh…"

"No, no, I will see to it—"

"—but we've caused you so much trouble!"

"No trouble, no trouble at all!" He had inched away further, nervously, before stopping. "Though I will need to know what flavor you want for the top layer before you go. That's, uh," he seemed to hesitate for a moment, but his professionalism won over his trepidation, "traditionally the one you keep for the first anniversary."

"Oh, um…" Maka said, then looked to her weapon, who stopped his quiet laughter long enough to look back and shrug. They seemed to come to some unspoken agreement after another moment, because both looked back to the baker and said in unison "surprise us."

"Uh, sure, of course," the baker nodded, forcing a smile. "Well, then, I'm sure you'll want to be on your way to, er," he looked them up and down pointedly, both still, but for the spots they had _licked_ off one another, covered head to toe in cake, "freshen up. Please do take care."

Maka nodded, offered a final thanks, and then grabbed her weapon's hand to tug him out of the shop.

"Well," he said as they walked towards his bike, "that was fun. Was I good enough?" His voice sounded almost hopeful underneath the amusement. She stopped and tugged him to a stop as well just before they reached the motorcycle.

"You're joking right?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Uhhh…" He scratched the back of his neck nervously. She just shook her head.

"I was actually thinking you should be punished," she said flatly.

"Punished?" he groaned.

"Mmmm hmmm…" and her lips curved into a wicked smile. "Definitely punished. You've been a very," she stepped closer, "very," even closer, "bad boy." She pressed a kiss to his mouth, licking frosting from his upper lip in the process.

"Ah, punished," he murmured against her mouth. "I definitely deserve it,"

"Mmmhmmmm," she hummed, stepping back to smile up at him too innocently.

"Uh, guess we should head home and get to that?" he offered.

"Mmmmhmmmm," she repeated in agreement.

"Alright, then."

And a plan of action in place, they both mounted the bike, even Soul heedless of the smearing of cake on his baby, and sped off home.


End file.
